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Eli snaps his arm out and lands a punch in Alec’s solar plexus.
Well, color me surprised.
And turned on. There was a fierceness behind that punch that made my knees weak in the best way. Alec drops to the mats, gasping and wheezing. It’s a glorious sound. I try to meet Eli’s gaze, but he’s staring at his fist like he can’t believe it’s attached to his body.
“What the fuck, man?” Alec gasps, rolling onto his knees and clutching his stomach as he gasps for air.
“That’s excellent. Top marks,” Antony says. I can see him struggling to contain his laughter. “The only thing is, you hit him once and then stopped. In a life or death situation, you can’t guarantee one blow is going to incapacitate a villain. If he had a weapon, it might’ve fallen to the ground and he could be heading for it. Like this.”
Antony pulls a flick knife from his belt and drops it on the mat. No one’s laughing or talking anymore. There’s an electric charge in the air – like the heat pulsing whenever I’m around one of the guys, but this one is scented in blood. Alec looks at me with watering eyes, and I see the realization flicker on his face. That’s a real knife, and if he wants to make it out of this fight alive, he needs to reach it.
Alec lunges for the knife at the exact time Eli surges forward. He kicks the blade away and stomps on Alec’s hand. Alec screams as Eli grinds his heel into Alec’s fingers. Eli glances up at Antony, and the expression on his face is unreadable. “Like this?”
“You’re a fast learner.” Antony kicks Alec in the back. “Once he’s on the ground, it’s a good idea to go for the kidneys. Anyone else want a go?”
Blood scents the air. I shove George forward. Her eyes widen, but she looks at me and I nod. The secret that hangs between us gives her strength.
“Go on,” I whisper. “You may not get justice in a court. But you can have it today.”
George’s lip wobbles, but she lets go of my arm and steps forward. Eli steps over the mat and takes her hand, then pulls her in front of Antony, who appraises her with his steely gaze. “What’s your name, doll?”
“G-G-George,” she stammers. “George Fisher.”
“Good. Nice to meet you, George Fisher. Now, normally when people teach self-defense they get girls to team up with other girls, but that shit’s pointless. I’ve seen enough catfights in my time to know you ladies have that on lock.” Antony kicks Alec in the side again. “Get up, scumbag.”
“Can’t you choose someone else?” Alec gasps.
“Why would I choose someone else? You’re doing great. You’ll get an A+ for this assignment. Now, pretend you’re a rapist. Lunge at this girl.”
The ‘r’ word sings in the air, heavy with the scent of blood. Alec crawls to his feet. He can barely stand. Antony cracks his knuckles again, and fear flickers in Alec’s eyes as he lurches toward George.
For a moment, she’s frozen, and I know she’s not seeing Alec as he is now, but she’s remembering another night, another time he lunged at her and put his hands on her without permission.
“Ms. Fisher.”
The authority in Antony’s voice snaps George from her trance. She moves her body, although I’m not sure she’s even aware she’s doing it. Antony’s behind her, touching her shoulder as he instructs her.
Alec grabs George’s arms, and the look on his face is pleading. But there’s no mercy here. He took that from George when he hurt her. She snaps her body around, so his momentum carries him forward, where her upturned knee connects with his crotch with a satisfying CRUNCH.
“Yusss!” I punch the air. “Go George.”
“A classic move,” Noah observes with a wry smile. “She’s learned from the best.”
Alec’s on the ground, moaning, but George has more she wants to say. She kicks him in the side, then again. She doesn’t stop kicking. Her face twists into this misshapen roar, and all that is the George I know disappears, and a monster takes over. A monster that Alec LeMarque made.
Cleo keeps looking at Antony like she expects him to call George off, but he simply smiles and taps his foot. Tears roll down Alec’s cheeks, and blood spurts from his nose and a cut above his eye. But still, George keeps kicking.
Antony moves around the room until he’s standing next to us. “Here’s a plot twist for you,” he whispers. “It turns out Brentwood wasn’t our mystery gunman after all.”
“Oh yeah?” I lift an eyebrow. “It was bothering me how messy that was. It didn’t seem like Brentwood’s style. Please tell me it’s not Brutus.”
“It’s not him. Old Brutey Boy is still AWOL.” Antony nods to the prone body of Alec LeMarque. “Your friend Alec purchased a rifle last month. The model matches the bullets I pulled out of the wall.”
“Shit,” Noah says.
“I admire his cajones. I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“Anything he had in him is not in him anymore,” Antony chuckles. “Consider this an early birthday present.”
